


Professionalism

by doobler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Homophobic Language, M/M, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobler/pseuds/doobler
Summary: I'm sick of people pitting both Steves against each other so here's fanfictional evidence that they're good friends





	Professionalism

"--and lastly on the docket," Director Fury cleared his throat, reigning everyone back into the conversation. "Strange. You have a very important meeting to attend this Saturday with the country's top medical minds"

All eyes turned to the end of the table. Stephen wore a look of utter and complete shock, the beginnings of a smile splitting across his face. Clint leaned out of his chair to playfully clasp the sorcerer's shoulder.

"Me?" Stephen echoed, pointing to himself.

"Yup. Hank McCoy couldn't make it, something about shedding season, so he put out your name instead," Fury looked up from his stack of paperwork, quirking his brow. "Said you were an equally qualified man for the job."

"Hank McCoy suggested  _me_ to go in his stead?" Stephen repeated.

"I think you broke him, director," Scott chuckled. "He's stuck in a loop."

"Sorry, I just. That's very humbling--"

"This isn't about humility, doctor," Fury corrected. "This meeting could shape the medical field for decades to come. You'll be our representative for mutant health and a voice for pretty much every superhero out there. We're counting on you to do a damn good job. Can you handle that?"

Stephen straightened up in his seat. His expression firmed, brows drawn in, lips thin and serious. He looked every bit like the master of the mystical arts that he was.

"You have my word, director." He affirmed.

"Damn straight. Alright, dismissed."

With the slap of paper against wood, the Avengers disbanded, filing out of the conference room amid a cloud of quiet chatter. Stephen waited for everyone else to leave before sidling out of the room.

"Captain! Captain, may I have a word?"

Steve Rogers paused, turning on his heels. He had a steady smile on his face, watching as Stephen dashed to catch up with him. 

"Yes, doctor?" He asked, brimming with his usual golden charm.

"I have a very... Sensitive request to ask of you," Stephen inhaled sharply. At his sides, his hands were shaking. "See. Tony and I have this... Ritual of sorts that we do before important events but, as you know, he's still out of the country for work. Everyone else has their own missions but I saw on your schedule that you're free and I was wonderi--"

"Yeah, sure, I'm game," Cap beamed. "Anything for our resident medic."

Stephen sniffled, the ridges of his high cheeks flushing the faintest pink. Everyone in the Avengers knew the best and easiest way to their sorcerer's heart was appealing to his medical history. Additionally, during their last mission, Stephen had taken it upon himself to save Cap's life, using incredible amounts of magic for an emergency surgery. If anything, Cap had quite the long list of favors to repay.

"What's this ritual? Hopefully nothing... Arcane."

"No, no, it's much more embarrassing than that," Stephen laughed, bright and warm. "It's just a little ah. Little activity we do to get in the right mindset. All you have to do is sit and look pretty."

"I think I can handle that." Cap pursed his lips, nodding playfully.

"Excellent," Stephen squared his shoulders. The pair nearly came eye to eye. "I'll see you at the Sanctum Friday night at 8:00pm."

With that, Stephen made his way down the opposite end of the hall, leaving with a poignant swish of his Cloak. Cap watched, chuckling softly to himself. It was comforting to know the man who held medicine's future in his damaged hands had a flair for the dramatic.

 

Steve pulled up to the New York Sanctum at exactly 7:55pm. Unsure of how parking rules applied on such an odd street, he decided it was best to simply set his motorcycle in the empty spot right in front of the Sanctum. He was halfway up the front steps when the doors swung inwards. Wong held them open, bowing his head slightly as Steve stepped inside.

"Captain," He greeted. "You're looking well."

"Wong. Good to see you again," Steve extended his hand, smiling at the firm shake. "How've you been holding up?"

"Fine. Same as usual. Watching over the comos and all that."

"Sounds like a stressful job."

"It has its perks," Wong wore a secretive smirk on his face. "Stephen's quarters are just down this hall, last door on the left."

Steve followed his hand, peering down the hall in question. When he turned back to Wong, the sorcerer had vanished. He shook his head, holding back a chuckle as he made his way towards Stephen's room. He knocked twice before a voice called for him to enter.

Stepping inside, Steve was amazed at how humble the master magician's room was. There was a four post bed with rustic looking blankets, a small closet, a single cabinet, a desk, and a bedside table. One wall had a slim floor to ceiling mirror. A painting hung above the desk, boasting a rather lovely landscape set on a lake. When Steve stared at the picture for too long, it seemed to wobble and undulate. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the image.

"I hope Wong didn't shake you down too badly."

Steve tore his gaze away from the painting. Stephen poked his head out of the closet, a warm smile on his face.

"Oh no, not at all," Steve grinned back. "He's always pretty nice actually."

"Because he's starstruck," Stephen waved his hand dismissively, ducking back into the closet. "He has a thing for you which makes no sense to me-- n-not because it's you, he just has the most random people he finds attractive."

Steve laughed, folding his hands behind his back. He idled awkwardly, unsure of where he was meant to be. Stephen seemed to sense the tension, stepping out of the closet with his hands on his hips.

"Sit down, Rogers, you're making me anxious," Stephen commanded gently. "Tell me, does this shirt make my complexion look warmer or jaundice-ridden?"

Steve sat obediently on the edge of the sorcerer's bed. He looked the older man up and down, quirking his brow. Stephen sported a pale yellow shirt, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He turned slightly, showing off the back.

"Uhm. It does make you look a little sickly," Steve replied. "I don't know if that shade really works for your skin tone."

"Excellent."

Stephen smiled wider, ducking back into the closet. When he came back out, he was wearing a white shirt instead. Two other tops were draped across his shoulders, one black and one red.

"Which of these three work best? I feel like the black makes me look too edgey but maybe that's what I need."

"Well you don't wanna come off as too intimidating, right? I'd say something more neutral," Steve rattled off. "I think a light blue would work well, or maybe just white."

"Wonderful." Stephen returned the other two shirts, keeping on the white one. 

"What uh. What exactly are we doing right now?"

"Oh! Sorry," Stephen looked bashful, rolling his eyes. "This is uh. This is the ritual. Tony and I usually spend the night before events doing a little uh. Y'know. Runway show type thing. To get hyped up."

"That's absolutely hilarious," Steve chuckled brightly, resting his cheek in his palm. "And sounds totally in character for Tony."

"It's fun and relaxing, what can I say," The sorcerer mirrored Steve's smile. "Plus it's better for Tony to exert his drama queen energies in private rather than public."

The pair shared a laugh. It was nice. There was no tension, no awkwardness. They were simply two co-workers turned friends having a pleasant time indoors.

"How are you and Barnes?" Stephen waved his hand. A teacup, saucer, and matching kettle appeared out of thin air. 

"We're... Fine. Good, actually," Steve held the cup with both hands, watching as the drink poured itself. It smelled heavenly, lightly spiced with fruity undertones. "It's not. We. It's complicated. There aren't really any uh. It isn't like. It's very vague."

"Good."

"Good?" Steve took a delicate sip. Perfection.

"Yes, good," Stephen stepped back out of the closet. He was wearing a different pair of slacks. "Tony and I need structure. He's wild and needs a guiding hand while I'm still very much a professionl person and depend upon concrete scheduling. You and Barnes are military men forsaken by the government. You've had your fill of structure and rigidity. In your own personal lives, you need to be free of that. Something more relaxed would greatly benefit both of your mentalities. How's the cut of these pants, too wide?"

"Yeah, they're a little wide-- how uh. How do you know all that?"

Stephen ambled out of the closet. He looked a little odd in a dress shirt and socks, his pants in his hands. The smile on his face was tinged with melancholy.

"I've read everyone's file, Steve. I'm the team's doctor, I need to know how everyone is faring, physically and emotionally. I'm... Very well aware of the trauma the both of you have faced."

Steve nodded stiffly. He took a moment to drink more tea. When the cup was empty, the kettle reappeared. He held up his saucer, watching as it refilled.

"How uh. How are you and Tony?" Steve asked softly.

"Fantastic," Stephen wrestled on his slacks. He seemed to have some difficulties but tried not to show it. "Truly. Things are going very very well."

"I'm glad. You both deserve it."

Stephen swallowed thickly. His hands trembled as he zipped up the fly. At the back of his mind, Steve realized he was witnessing something very private and sacred. The sorcerer was a very proud man, not in a narcissistic way, but in a way that conveyed he had struggled and prevailed. Regardless, he wore gloves on most missions and dressed alone, his locker unused on the Helicarrier. As he was now was the most physically open Steve had ever seen him. A great amount of unspoken trust hung in the air.

"Does he uh. Does he talk about me?"

"I've never in my entire time of knowing you seen you so apprehensive," Stephen tilted his head to the side, trying his best to look sympathetic. "Relax, Steve. Can I get you anything? Cookies? A blanket? Wong makes a bombass hot chocolate."

A laugh erupted from Steve's chest, making him press his hand to his mouth. He shook his head, mirth shimmering in his eyes.

"No, no thank you, doc," The captain replied. "I just need to... Chill out a bit."

"Alright. And yes, he does, but..." Stephen's gaze was distant for a moment. "Listen, maybe... It isn't my place to say this. I wasn't there. But. What happened with Ultron and the subsequent 'civil war' was everyone and no one's fault. You and Anthony both were under immense amount of stress and you both reacted in very human ways. I believe either side had fuck ups but either side was also both greatly hurt."

Stephen took a spot beside Steve. He waved his hand again, summoning forth his own tea cup. It filled halfway, the rest of the drink supplied by a flask. He took a long sip before continuing.

"I'm slightly biased of course. Tony is... A very ill man. He's been sick for a long time and I don't think anyone really bothered to investigate that. He's so incredibly good at hiding himself behind a wall of charm and arrogance, you'd have no idea how much he was hurting deep inside."

"He... Never really ever showed me," Steve clenched his fists, digging them into his thighs. "I never understood why--"

"He was raised to never show pain, captain," The sorcerer cut in. "Pain is weakness. Weakness is wrong. That's what he was taught. Lessons like that are... Hard to shake."

Inhaling deeply, Stephen ran a hand through his hair. The lines under his eyes seemed more prominent than usual.

"When Tony talks about you, he... There's a lot of regret on his face. He wants to rebuild that friendship and he wants to be open and understanding but... I. I don't think he's totally healed yet."

"Well. Tell him I'm willing to wait for as long as he needs me to," Steve's face was hard, set firmly with determination. "He's not the only one eager to rebuild bridges."

Stephen smiled, wide and warm. The gesture reached his eyes, making them sparkle and glimmer. He patted Steve's shoulder gently, moving in for an almost one-armed hug.

"I'm glad."

 

In the end, the duo decided together on a white dress shirt, blue embroidered jacket, and dark slacks. Steve thought it was subtlety elegant and Stephen commented that it made him feel mysterious.

The flight to the conference was mostly quiet. Stephen exuded a potent nervous energy, his hands twitching in his lap, his eyes wide. Steve wondered if there was something he could do. He imagined being Tony for a moment, of how a loved one could provide comfort. Sliding out of the co-pilot's seat, he made his way over to the sorcerer's side.

"You're gonna absolutely kill this," Steve affirmed, clenching his fist for emphasis. "I have the utmost confidence in you, doc."

"That's... Very kind of you," Stephen replied. He avoided eye contact entirely. "There are just some. Bad memories being stirred up. Memories of who I once was. Memories of..."

Stephen flexed his fingers. They ached terribly. He jumped a fraction as Steve's palms enclosed over his hands. The soft heat soothed his bones.

"Who you were means nothing. Who you are is all that matters. And who you are is a selfless, confident, strong-willed, powerful, highly intelligent magical doctor. These people aren't even close to being on your level. Don't let them intimidate you."

Stephen turned his hands over, skating his fingertips along the plane of Steve's palms. He pursed his lips, his eyes twitching slightly, before he took a long deep breath.

"You're totally right, captain," Stephen grinned. "Thank you."

The jet landed on schedule. Stephen peered through the windshield. The conference building was enormous, the architecture modern deco, standing out like a slab of metal in the heart of a well manicured garden. Their pilot toggled with the jet's controls, unfolding the ramp with a hydraulic hiss. Stephen stood, hands shaking. When he looked back at Cap, he was awarded with a broad grin and two thumbs up.

Sauntering down the tarmac, Stephen muttered silently under his breath, whispering his own little mantra of self-confidence. He fiddled with the lapel of his jacket before shoving his fists into his pockets. He hoped he looked more casual than he did nervous.

" _I can see you vibrating from here, doc._ "

Stephen jumped, twisting around. In the distance, from within the jet, Steve waved. The sorcerer had completely forgotten he still had his comm on.

" _Just remember. You've got this._ "

"Thank you. I will." Stephen replied before closing off the channel.

Stepping through the doors, he took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

 

The conference room was surprisingly far away, deep within the building. It took a while for Stephen to find it. By the time he did, he was five minutes late. Easing open the door, he peered inside. The long dark table was entirely packed, every side sporting a good amount of seats and occupants. Paperwork sat neatly folded every few feet. Behind the head of the table were enormous windows overlooking a quaint man-made lake. The topiaries and water features all seemed straight out of a Disney movie.

"I apologize for being late," Stephen spoke up, skirting around the table to take the final empty seat. "I... Lost my way a bit."

"Ah, finally! If it isn't Dr. _Queer_."

Stephen's heart dropped into the deepest darkest pit of his stomach.

"Took you long enough," One of the other men cut in. "Aren't neurosurgeons supposed to be the really smart ones?"

"That's what happens when you hang out with  _poofty freaks_  like the Avengers-- they drain your brains fucking dry."

"Alright, alright," The wizened old gentleman nestled in the largest chair chided, waving his hands to garner silence. "Act like children on your own schedule. I've got places to be after this. Anderson, start us off, will you?"

Stephen swallowed thickly. Part of him wondered if he'd died and gone to Hell. His heart definitely didn't feel like it was beating. Maybe this was an elaborate nightmare. Under the table, he pinched his own thigh.

Regrettably, he was awake.

"--Strange, if you could present your findings."

Stephen blinked rapidly, clearing his throat. When he shuffled through his own stack of notes, he could feel dozens of eyes on him. His hands shook like leaves in a hurricane, quaking worse than ever. He could scarcely read Hank's handwriting through the tremors.

"Grow a fucking pair,  _Queer_ ," Another representative sneered. "See, this is why I prefered that  _blue ape_ \-- at least I know he can present worth a damn."

"I apologize," Stephen replied evenly. "These hands don't work as well as they used to."

"The rumors about you being the most hated Avenger make sense now. Bet it's hard to pull off those losers with hands like  _those_."

The sorcerer felt about ready to vomit. He tried to clear his throat again, wincing at the biting dryness. Taking a brief sip from his water, he shuffled his notes again and began to read.

After he spoke, the honor passed around the table until everyone had rattled off who they were and their intentions for the meeting. Stephen stayed utterly silent for most of it, speaking only to voice a quiet "yay" or "nay" when necessary. 

Hank McCoy was both an incredible scientist and a highly charismatic speaker. His notes, plus the bassy and commanding timbre of Stephen's voice, made for a powerful combination. Surprisingly, no one argued with his points. In the end, the conference was a success in the minute corner of mutant and hero-kind. Everything seemed accounted for.

"--Now get out of my sight." The main speaker grumbled, and everyone was dismissed.

Stephen waited a moment, wanting the room to clear a bit. He stood on slightly trembling legs, reaching up to flick on his comm. He hesitated, realizing that some of the other representatives were still lingering by the door.

"We've met before y'know," One of the men piped up as Stephen approached. "You look different outside a bathroom not on your knees."

"Let me through." Stephen demanded, squaring his shoulders. At least four of them were barricading the exit.

"It was bad enough when Captain America was with that fucking  _queer slut_  Stark-- now both of you are together? Fucking disgusting."

"'Earth's mightiest heroes'-- what a fucking joke."

"You gonna pull  _a rabbit outta my ass, Dr.Queer_?"

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Stephen shouldered his way through the blockade. He felt a hand collide with his rear, pushing him roughly out the door. Righting himself with an indignant huff, Stephen made a beeline for the main entrance. Before he left, he ducked into the bathroom, taking a few minutes to hunch over a toliet and gag. Hot bile, acidic and thick, rose up in his throat. He hadn't heard those names in a long time. All sorts of emotions battled inside him, dissolving into cold emptiness when he was done vacating the contents of his stomach. He splashed his face with water in the sink, rinsing off his hands and bolting out of the door.

Steve was idling on the runway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. When he saw the sorcerer coming, he smiled bright enough to rival the sun.

"Stephen!" He beamed, extricating one of his hands and moving in for a casual hug. "There's the man of the hour! How-- Stephen? Why is your face wet?"

"The meeting was a success," Stephen's voice was cold, almost detached in a way. "We've been granted all the programs we hoped for. Multiple insurance companies have our back. Our mutant physiology research program has complete funding. The Avengers are now covered in terms of medical proceedings."

"That's. That's great news," Steve lowered his hand. A sense of foreboding crossed his heart. "Are you feeling alright? You look really pale."

"I'm. I'm fine," Stephen coughed into his fist. "I need to leave."

"Oh. Well the pilot can have us ready to go in a few minutes--"

"I'm sorry, I need to go  _now_."

Digging into his pocket, Stephen pulled out his sling ring. He slipped it on, carving a portal into the air. It led to his room in the Sanctum. With one foot through the circle of sparks, he looked back, offering Steve an entirely forced smile.

"Thanks for all your help, captain."

With that, the portal snapped shut, leaving Steve with a stabbing pain in his chest.

 

For at least three days after the conference, Doctor Strange was entirely missing from the Avengers. No news outlets seemed concerned but the heroes themselves knew better. By the third day, the Helicarrier felt heavy with tension, the air stagnant and humid.

"It's weird not having either of our sarcastic assholes around." Sam spoke up, swirling a cup of coffee in his hand. When he took a sip, his face contorted. It was bitter.

"Tony's still doing back to back meetings in God knows where," Clint replied, passing over the carton of milk. "And Strange is... I dunno. No one knows."

"We easily could know," Natasha spoke up from her seat, halfway through polishing off another donut. "Since he joined the team, Strange's been monitored. SHIELD knows his every move. Well. As long as he's in this reality."

"That feels... Wrong," Sam cut in. "He's our magic man. Prying like that seems... Creepy."

"I getcha," Clint nodded. "He's so private about everything."

"Cap? You ok?" Natasha asked.

Steve stood leaning against the wall. He'd walked in silently a few minutes ago, content simply to listen. Hearing his fellow teammates voice out loud his own concerns boosted his confidence. Without saying a word, he reached into the break room's fridge, pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, and took the chair beside Natasha. His features were grim and serious.

"Could you get me video and audio surveillance for a building not directly monitored by SHIELD?" Steve's voice was even but it was clear he was begging.

"Yeah. Definitely," Natasha popped the last of her treat into her mouth, standing sharply. "Is this related to Strange?"

"Yes. It is." Steve followed suit, shoving his fists into his pockets.

Sam and Clint looked nervous, eyes darting between the pair. The tension was palpable, almost thick enough to touch.

"Is he okay?" Clint piped up.

Steve met his gaze. His eyes were pained.

"I don't know."

 

Natasha and Steve easily slipped into one of the Helicarriers many offices. The spy picked a computer furthest from the door and sat down silently, her fingers a blur against the keys. Steve watched in silence. He'd had a sick feeling in his gut ever since the conference. He'd never in his life seen Stephen look so defeated. Even at his worse, with broken bones and blood in his eyes, the sorcerer had never seemed to utterly spent. The image sent chills down Steve's spine.

"Alright, here's the video archive," Natasha shattered the silence, flipping between each camera's feed. "Do you know what room it was?"

"I'm pretty sure it was room 10."

Finally, they found it, toggling the footage to the start of the meeting. The angle was a bit awkward but they were able to clearly hear everything and witness most of what unfolded.

 

_"Ah, finally! If it isn't Dr.Queer."  
_

_"That's what happens when you hang out with poofty freaks like the Avengers--"  
_

_"Grow a fucking pair, Queer,"  
_

_"The rumors about you being the most hated Avenger make sense now."  
_

_"You look different outside a bathroom not on your knees."_

Steve shuddered, gritting his teeth. It took every ounce of will he had not to punch a hole through the screen. They both could see the agony in Stephen's body language, the accute embarrassment and pain that overtook him.

"All that and Strange still fucking got us what we wanted," Natasha muttered under her breath. "Next person here who disrespects him is gonna get a knife up their--"

"Nat, can you identify all of those men at the meeting?"

Natasha looked up, brow quirked. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Yeah, probably. It'll take some time, the video quality's a bit shitty, but yeah, I could."

"I need you to get the names of every single representative in there," Steve jabbed his finger at the screen. "Dig up their files. Find all the dirt you can. Get them terminated."

A wicked grin broke across Natasha's face. She interlaced her fingers, pushing them outward with a symphony of cracking joints. She started typing, pulling up an array of spreadsheets Steve couldn't even understand.

"I'll keep you posted," She assured, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Go take it easy, Cap. I've got this."

Steve nodded a few times, gently patting Natasha's shoulder. He moved to leave, shutting the door with a delicate click.

"And what, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

Steve tried his best to smother the panic rising in his throat. He turned around as smoothly as possible, facing a rather pissed looking Fury.

"Director. I--"

"Don't even start, Rogers," Fury raised his hand dismissively. "You think I can't see everything that happens on my own damn carrier?"

Steve kept his face level, standing tall and firm. He didn't want to disrespect one of the only good commanding officers in his life but, at the same time, he had matters to attend to. Before he could defend himself, Fury held up a flash drive, the beginnings of a smirk stretching across his lips.

"Here's all the info you'll need," He passed the device over, watching Steve closely. "If there's anything missing, don't hesitate to ask."

With that, he turned on his heels, making his way down the hall. Steve found his voice, calling out to stop his advance.

"Sir? Why?" He inquired.

Fury exhaled slowly. He swiveled to face Steve. His expression was unreadable.

"Because no one but me can shake my team like that."

 

Doctor Strange rejoined the Avengers a week later. When he arrived for the mission debriefing, he looked like hell. One arm was in a splint, a line of medical tape held together a gash above his brow, his eyes looked puffy and dark, and the lines around his mouth cut deep. He didn't talk much, speaking in fragments of sentences. When the meeting disbanded, he didn't move to leave.

"Stephen? Are you alright?" Steve leaned across the table. He wanted to reach out and take his uninjured hand but fought the urge.

"Thank you."

For the first time since he'd arrived, Stephen smiled. He sniffled quietly, deflating into the back of his chair.

"I saw the news. That all those doctors were fired," Stephen reached up, slowly peeling one of the bandaids off of his face. Underneath was a mostly healed cut. "Because unrelated issues were exposed, the agreements made during the conference will remain untouched. We still have our victories."

"The way you were treated was disgusting and unacceptable," Steve replied. "I did what I had to. Those men shouldn't have innocent lives in their hands if that's how they behave in a professional environment."

"It's nice seeing you mad from time to time," Stephen smirked. His nose had a charming wrinkle across the bridge. "You're always so prim and proper."

Steve watched the sorcerer stand, desperate to hide the pain on his face. When he moved around the table, Steve rose to meet him.

"All this is nothing by the way," Stephen huffed quietly. "I got so upset, I buried myself in work. Slayed some demons, infiltrated a few alien cults, usual sorcerer stuff."

Steve managed a soft laugh and Stephen mirrored the sound. They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Stephen leaned in, managing a one-armed hug.

"C'mon. Wong and I stayed up late to make fortune cookies from scratch. They all have really shitty puns inside," Stephen beamed. "I can already hear Sam bitching about it."

Steve laughed more brightly, holding the door open for the sorcerer. He followed close behind, just in case he needed extra support.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> Come say hi, I'm also doobler on tumblr!!!


End file.
